Fate's Cruelty
by Mixed Metaphors
Summary: Rated for violence. Are we truly victims of fate? Drizzt reflects on his memories of a half-elf slave he met in Menzoberranzan. One-shot


A/N: Hello fellow Forgotten Realms fans! This is an angsty one-shot I've been writing for the past couple of weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Drizzt Do'Urden belongs to the talented R.A. Salvatore. He is not mine…although I wish he was pouts

Anyway: on with the story!

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**_Fate's Cruelty_**

_I have found that it is a common saying on the surface that "strangers are merely friends we have yet to meet". Recently, I have caught myself pondering the deeper meaning of these words. I do not doubt that it is true, surely-and hopefully-it must be, but what of the implications of this? And what of fate? How great a part does it play? How many potential friends or lovers have passed through my life and why did I not-could I not-seize these opportunities?_

_One could say that the friends we have, and the lovers we have known, are brought to us entirely through circumstance...but then…are we victims to chance? Are our lives predestinied? It is my hope that they are not, for what then, would the purpose of life be, if all our decisions were made for us, and every step was planned? But then, if it is not fate that hinders us, is it ourselves? Do we, or more accurately our trepidation and hesitation, prevent ourselves from friendship and love?_

_No…I believe that is a mix of circumstance and our own reactions to these circumstances. Sometimes it is necessary to take the initiative ourselves, not wait for our true love to come to us. Unfortunately, there are times when all the powers of fate seem to conspire against us and love simply cannot be…_

_I, myself, cannot help but wonder what we lose by these missed opportunities. The friends I am lucky to have-Bruenor, Catti-brie, Wulfgar, Regis-have taught me a great number of things in the time I have known them. What then might these phantom friends that I have never known, have taught me?_

_What might I have felt…?_

Drizzt paused in his writing and closed his lavender eyes in a feeble attempt to stem the flood of old memories. Gently, he put his quill down on the wooden surface of his writing-desk and pushed himself quietly to his feet.

He moved to stand in front of the window, taking in the night landscape. It was quite late, with the moon at its zenith; the world seemed bathed in an unearthly pale silver glow.

With the sigh of one who has lost an inner battle, Drizzt let the past wash over him.

Drizzt was home. At least, that was what he'd been trying to convince himself ever since he'd walked back into house Do'Urden. No matter how many times he said it to himself though, no matter how much effort he poured into trying to, he simply did not believe his own words.

Currently, the young drow lay on his bed, listlessly toying with one scimitar, his thoughts elsewhere. In two days he would start patrolling, until then his time was his own. Yet, Drizzt had no idea what to do with this time. He could try to practise, but he had not seen Zaknafein at all since his return. Though, the dark elf was not sure if he would want to see his former mentor after their last parting…

Drizzt shook his head quickly, dispelling his thoughts. The images from that fateful day still stung him. It was better not to think about Zak at all.

Rising, Drizzt sheathed the one scimitar and quickly fastened his weapon's belt around his slender waist. He had to move or…do something, anything to distract him at least for some time. As he flipped his _piwafwi_ around his shoulders, Drizzt pondered the possibility of exploring the city. Perhaps if he truly wanted to discover the nature of his people he should go observe them. All he had seen of Menzoberranzan in his short life had been his own house and the Academy and very little else. It was time that he saw the streets.

No one paid Drizzt any attention as he made his way through the halls and out of the house. Not that he really expected anyone to, but he half-thought that one of sisters might wonder where he was going; after all they were never happy when a male decided to do something on his own. Although, he really couldn't complain if they had chosen this day to ignore him.

Menzoberranzan had yet to impress Drizzt. All he could see underneath the graceful buildings and intricate, beautiful carvings were starving faces, scarred slaves, poverty and death. Ragged forms huddled in shadowed corners, waiting to die. They did not even attempt to beg, knowing that it would be in vain. There was no charity in the underdark.

Around him, battered slaves went about their work, building the city of their enemies. Their eyes were devoid of emotion, every one of their movements was automatic. Every now and then a guard would whip one, to keep them afraid but it seemed that these unfortunates were beyond pain.

Just in front of the young drow was a group of slavers, recently returned from a surface raid and eager to sell their newest wares. As Drizzt passed, his gaze was drawn to one particular captive. He paused slightly for a moment to study her. Her slight build and pointed ears suggested that she was of elven heritage, but other characteristics revealed human blood as well.

"_Tu'rilthiir_," Drizzt whispered to himself. She was a half-elf.

 She was bound, with her hands tied behind her back and she was kneeling at the feet of one of slavers who was currently negotiating her price with a potential customer. She had obviously been treated roughly, her clothes were little more than rags, and her hair and skin was caked with dried blood. Her head was bowed, tangled dark brown hair falling in front of her face. The dark curtain obscured most of her features, but Drizzt could still see her eyes. They were blue, but they were not the light blue that was common for other surface dwellers. They were deep and so dark they seemed very nearly black. Her gaze was trained on the ground, though for a moment her eyes flickered upward, the movement too small to follow.

Drizzt watched, entranced, as the half-elf glanced over at three other slaves, two elves and a human-her comrades, most likely. One of them-a male elf-seemed to make some nearly-invisible signal to which she responded with the subtlest of nods. After this silent exchange, the four companions lowered their eyes. It seemed to Drizzt that only he noticed the fact that although the half-elf prisoner appeared broken and resigned to her fate, his fighter's instincts told him that the woman was tense and poised to spring.

With an effort, the young drow tore his attention away from the slaves; their fate was not his concern. There was nothing he could do for them. For a moment though, he remembered the grove on the surface-the elves who had danced and died there-and he wished he could.

Drizzt adjusted the hood of his cloak so that it fully hid his face and continued down the city street. Barely two minutes had passed before he heard screams and a commotion break out behind him. Turning back, he was amazed to see the half-elf he had noticed moments earlier, wielding a stolen sword and standing in a circle, surrounded by the corpses of slain slavers. All bystanders were hurriedly trying to get out of harm's way, giving the woman a wide berth.

She was panting slightly from exertion and her eyes were staring blankly at the bodies around her. Drizzt could see the remains of her bonds around her wrists and he wondered briefly how she had severed them. She had been wounded, apparently, and she clutched at a cut on her shoulder, her face twisted in pain. Abruptly the half-elf straightened, turned and hurried over to her companions who were still tied, though they were struggling to their feet. She quickly cut their bonds then spun and slashed the throat of a drow soldier who had come too close.

Her comrades scrambled to pick up the dropped weapons of the fallen dark elves. As soon as they were armed, the four formed themselves into some sort of defensive position. They stood back-to-back, weapons raised and waited for their enemies to attack.

They did not need to wait long. Seconds later, drow soldiers-mostly male commoners-fell upon them like a wave. The companions fought valiantly under the unfair odds, but it was not long before all of them had sustained vicious wounds. Although the pile of bodies around them grew steadily higher.

Drizzt pushed roughly through the panicked crowds, trying to get near. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was only a matter of time before the slaves were killed. That is, unless he could interfere somehow. If he was lucky, he could engage at least one of them and perhaps save them as he had saved the elf-child on the surface. He hoped that he could save the half-elf.

By the time he finally reached the battle, the four's makeshift formation had been destroyed and each companion was fighting alone against at least two or three dark elf warriors. Drizzt's eyes immediately searched out the half-elf woman. He saw her, off to his left just as she plunged her sword between the ribs of one of her assailants. Before the drow had even hit the ground, she ripped out the blade, twisted around and cut off the hand of the soldier attacking her from behind. As the dark elf shrieked in pain and tried to back away, the rebel slave ended his life by beheading him.

She stood, bleeding from several new wounds and readied herself for a new enemy. Before any other warriors noticed the suddenly unoccupied half-elf, Drizzt appeared before her, scimitars drawn. Eyes narrowed, the half-elf cut at him from the side. Drizzt blocked the blow easily; it hadn't been very strong and had been meant to test his defenses. Sensing something different about this new foe, his opponent circled him warily and used another attack combination, her sword first coming in low then suddenly changing direction to come in on level with his neck. The young drow recognized the feint for what it was and once again he defeated the attack. She didn't stop though, and instead of breaking contact she kicked at his leg and brought her blade down in an overhead chop.

Drizzt winced, but took the blow to his shin and crossed his scimitars over his head to stop the swing of his opponent's sword. The half-elf fell back, breaking contact but she kept her eyes locked on him, examining his every movement. Reluctantly, Drizzt realized that if he didn't take the offensive soon one of his fellow drow would notice something amiss. With this in mind, he struck at her unprotected left flank and tried not to make the attack seem half-hearted.

His adversary lowered her sword and skillfully deflected the strike, but Drizzt did not stop. He pressed the attack, both of his scimitars working to keep the half-elf on the defensive. As much as he wanted to save her, she was highly skilled and the dark elf did not want to end up missing a limb for his trouble.

The half-elf gritted her teeth and fought to fend off the drow's whirling blades. He had the advantage; two weapons to her one and she was hard pressed. Suddenly, just as she was beginning to regain some measure of control a pained cry rang out through the air.

Both combatants paused and spun to see what had happened. Drizzt heard a horrified gasp escape the half-elf's lips and he felt her freeze in place. On the ground, still oozing blood, was the body of one of her friends-the elven male. Another one of her companions, the female elf, was kneeling next to him, her sword forgotten as she cradled her fallen lover's head in her lap and wept. One of the drow warriors smirked and approached the grieving woman. He pulled her head back roughly and placed a cruel-looking dagger at her throat.

Drizzt felt the half-elf beside him tense but before she could take a step to aid her companion, the elven woman's eyes opened and caught sight of her friend about to run to her death.

"No! Don't, Ori-"

Whatever name the elf had been trying to say was lost as her voice changed to a strangled gurgle. Her throat had been slit.

"No!" screamed the half-elf. Her cry of denial was joined by her last remaining comrade, the human male. With a feral growl, the human fell upon the drow with the ferocity of one who believes he has nothing left to lose. It looked as though the half-elf was going to join him when Drizzt blocked her way.

The female turned to stare into the drow's eyes and the look in her own tearing eyes was so tortured and so pained that Drizzt nearly moved out of her way. But he did not. His chance was now, while the other soldiers were distracted with the raging human. If he did not seize it, the half-elf would surely die. He glimpsed an alley, only a few paces away from them. Perfect. Now if he could somehow guide his charge to it.

It would not be easy. The half-elf's grief at the deaths of her friends had transformed into anger. Anger that was directed at Drizzt. With a cry she lunged at him, her sword moving at a nearly invisible speed. It was now Drizzt that was hard pressed to defend himself. There were many instances, as they traded blows, that the half-elf almost scored a hit, with the drow only just able to block it in time.

However, no matter how skilled, an enraged fighter always makes an error. So focused was the half-elven warrior on the offense that she neglected to keep up her defense. Drizzt found a hole and took advantage of it. Using the flat of one of his scimitars he struck his opponent in the back of one knee. Put off-balance by the blow, the half-elf crumpled. Realizing her vulnerable position, she desperately raised her blade in a meager defense but her drow adversary easily knocked it out of her hand.

Drizzt knelt beside her prostrate form, put one scimitar near her throat-but not too close-and whispered quickly, "Do you speak the drow tongue?"

For a moment, the half-elf just stared at him blankly, obviously confused.

"Do you understand me?" he asked urgently.

After what seemed an age to Drizzt, the half-elf nodded once.

"Listen," he said as quietly and quickly as he could, "You have to kick me and then run to that alley there," he made a small nod to towards the alley, "if you do this then you might escape."

The woman's eyes flickered over to where her last comrade was making his last stand and she shook her head.

"Please!" Drizzt's tone was so desperate that the half-elf turned back to meet his gaze, "I want to help you." He added softly.

The half-elf paused, appraising the young drow. Finally she gave him her answer. In the form of a hard kick to his side. Moments later, she was in the alley, no doubt running.

Drizzt struggled to his own feet and, stumbling slightly at first, pursued her. One soldier, who had seen the kick started to join him but Drizzt stopped him with a message in the silent drow hand code.

_This one's mine _he signaled with what he hoped looked like an excited grin. The soldier, who looked slightly put out, nodded.

Drizzt found her quickly; she had not gone as far as he had thought. When he found her, she was leaning heavily against a wall and she was shaking. At first he believed she was simply exhausted from fighting, but as soon as he neared her, she suddenly jerked, fell to her knees and began to cough up blood. Worried, Drizzt crouched beside her and did a mental check of her wounds. They were quite serious. Along with several cuts on her arms and stab wound in her shoulder, she had also taken a deep slash in her side. Drizzt was honestly amazed that she had survived this long.

The half-elf stopped heaving and managed to sit up, her face ashen. She leaned once again against the wall and closed her eyes. She was whispering something that Drizzt didn't understand and she was clutching a colourful braided bracelet that was tied around her left wrist. Drizzt watched as a single tear escaped from underneath her eyelid and slid down her pallid cheek.

As if in a dream, the young drow reached out and gently wiped away the tear. The half-elf's eyes opened and she met Drizzt's lavender gaze. Drizzt's breath almost caught in his throat. The hatred that had blazed so fiercely in her sapphire eyes whenever she had looked at him had disappeared. Instead, it had been replaced with a strange look of sorrow…and gratitude.

She was not beautiful, not by most drow's standards. Her features all together could be considered pretty, perhaps even attractive. That is, if she had not been soaked in blood, her hair matted and her face smeared with grime. But in that moment-with her eyes meeting his and a small, sad smile playing about her lips-she seemed to Drizzt to be lovelier than all the drow women he had ever seen.

She seemed to hesitate, then, moving slowly, she looked down and began to gently untie the braid on her wrist. When the knot had been undone she leaned forward took Drizzt's hand in her own and tied the braid around his wrist. The dark elf couldn't help but notice the contrast between her skin and his; Ivory and ebony. A world of difference, yet…in that alley, for that moment it suddenly didn't matter. Drizzt could not explain how he felt as the dying half-elf tied her last possession around his wrist but it felt…peaceful. As though centuries of feuding between their races had disappeared.

When she had finished, the half-elf once again looked up at his face. Slender fingers reached out to lightly caress his cheek.

"_Diola lle_." She said quietly.

The words were in elvish and were therefore quite alien to Drizzt but the smile she had given him and the gentle way she had said the words could only signify one thing. _Thank you._

"You're welcome," he responded automatically.

The half-elf nodded once, then, with a shudder, she slumped forward. Drizzt caught the woman easily and cradled her close. She did not appear the way she had before, when they had been fighting, so proud and fearless. She was so light and seemed so very frail despite her numerous battle scars. He could hear every rasping breath, he could feel every thud of her heartbeat. He noticed that it seemed that every beat there was an even greater interval until the next. It saddened him.

Drizzt did his best to comfort her; holding her gently in his arms, he stroked her hair and whispered soothing words to her. It made no difference that she couldn't understand him.

All of a sudden Drizzt remembered something. He did not even know her name. Somehow, he could not let this proud woman die without learning who she was.

"What's your name?" He asked, hoping that she would understand.

With what little strength she still had, the half-elf looked up at him.

"Ori…?" Drizzt ventured, remembering what the elven woman had cried. "Is that your name?"

The half-elf smiled then, a true smile; radiant and completely untainted with sorrow. With one last intake of breath she murmured, "Oriel."

Her name spoken, Oriel's heart beat once more and she went limp.

Reverently, Drizzt carefully lowered her body to the ground and smoothed her hair. "Oriel," he said softly, though she could no longer hear him, "My name is Drizzt Do'Urden."

With that he gently closed her eyes forever.

Drizzt lowered his head and sighed. If only things had been different….

Moved by some sudden whim, the drow walked over to his closet. He knelt on the floor and rummaged around until he had found a small, polished, wooden box. Inside was an object he had not looked upon since he'd met Bruenor. A brightly-coloured, braided bracelet, well-worn and a little faded.

He lifted it out of its box and held it in the palm of his hand.

"Oriel," he whispered, and smiled.

Sitting back at his writing desk, Drizzt once again took up his quill, clutching the bracelet in his other hand.

_I suppose I will never know what I have lost because of fate. I can only ever know what I have gained. Judging from the friends I have, I have gained much. Perhaps though, it does not take much for one life to influence another…all it may take is a gesture or a word. If that is so than maybe fate isn't so important after all._

_                                                                                                Drizzt Do'Urden_

A/N: Well that's it. I think this turned out rather well. I tried to write this story without changing anything from the actual books. (This was written between certain events in the book 'Homeland'.) In a way I kind of want to write this story again but from Oriel's point of view. As there was a whole sub-plot about her and her adventuring companions, that I wasn't able to write in. If any of you liked this story and want me to write that I would be happy to oblige . Anyway, I must run off to bed so if you readers would like to make me extraordinarily happy, than press that little purple button to your left and tell me what you thought. Take care!


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